


to be alone

by thrvnbys



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Falling In Love, Farmer Ronan Lynch, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, basically: ronan is a truant farmer and adam thinks that's hot, i'm so bad at summaries i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 06:42:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19312735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrvnbys/pseuds/thrvnbys
Summary: The day Adam Parrish first saw him, peddling down a twisted dirt road on the way to Boyd's mechanic shop, Ronan had been tugging along a very pregnant cow. It seemed at once ridiculous and not ridiculous at all to see this young, handsome man scuffing his feet in ridiculously expensive sneakers, singing a soft Irish lullaby with a cow in tow.





	to be alone

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this because i have an undying love for farmer ronan!!! thank you all so much for the positive feedback in my last fic i was overwhelmed with love!!!! :0
> 
> unedited!

**zero.**

There was nothing Ronan Lynch loved quite like his animals. Some wore their hearts on their sleeves, others between their third and fourth ribs, but Ronan Lynch wore his tentatively on the sleek feathers of his raven, the soft muzzle of his heifer, and on the boisterous golden curls of his younger brother, Matthew. And because of this, he was rarely seen without one or the other trailing behind him or perched painfully on his shoulder. 

The day Adam Parrish first saw him, peddling down a twisted dirt road on the way to Boyd's mechanic shop, Ronan had been tugging along a very pregnant cow. It seemed at once ridiculous and not ridiculous at all to see this young, handsome man scuffing his feet in ridiculously expensive sneakers, singing a soft Irish lullaby with a cow in tow. 

He didn't process the raven crest on the navy blue sweater until he was too far away to get a closer look at the strange, beautiful boy. 

 _Aglionby,_ Adam thought in wonder.  _He goes to Aglionby._

 

 

 

**one.**

A door slammed shut beneath him, followed by a series of clumsy footsteps running up the stairs in barely contained excitement. He heard Chainsaw caw in ruffled irritation. Despite himself, Ronan smiled into his glass of milk. 

"RonanRonanRonanRonanRonan!" Matthew called all the way down the hallway, bursting into his room with dramatic door-kicking. 

"Hey, fucker, those aren't expendable," Ronan said, feigning annoyance, but he was always happy to see his younger brother, especially without Declan's harrowing presence ruining the mood. He moved over on his bed so Matthew could collide into him, breathless. 

Matthew panted for a minute, draining the last of Ronan's milk before wiping off his frothy mustache dutifully. Finally, he said, "Is it here?" 

"Is what here?" Ronan rubbed Matthew's bright curls. He grinned at him, playing dumb solely for the sake of being an asshole. 

"You know!" Matthew gestured wildly with his hands. "Baby!" 

"Oh," Ronan swung his long legs off of his bed, heaving himself up and effectively taking Matthew with him. "You mean the calf DMD delivered today?" Matthew let out a crude whoop, racing back down the hall and sliding around until he somehow made it outside without breaking a single piece of furniture. Ronan jogged after him, the afternoon fog biting into his skin, and a pleased smile on his face. 

By the time Ronan cut across the field, Gansey had already parked and stood waiting, cutting a kingly figure in front of Ronan's barn, his fist outstretched for him to bump. 

"Thanks for driving Matthew over," Ronan said. 

"Don't worry about it," Gansey replied, and he meant it. 

They found Matthew already curled around the calf, cooing soft words of overwhelming love. 

"What's his name?" Gansey asked, crouching by the small, seemingly fearless little thing. 

Ronan sat down next to him, giving DMD a fond pat on her head. She blinked twice at him, then lowered her head protectively over her new calf. She had been Aurora Lynch's favorite, and, by default, was Ronan's favorite, too. 

"It's a she," Ronan corrected, rubbing DMD's ear. "I haven't named her yet." 

Matthew gave her a small kiss on the nose, unabashed when it came to his love for small animals. "Can I name her?" 

"Sure," Ronan said dismissively, though he had already been planning on letting Declan give her a name. In hindsight, Ronan thought, he would have given her a priggish name. Something like  _Nancy_ after Nancy Reagan, or  _Arlene._ "Go ahead." 

Matthew thought about it for all of two seconds before nodding to himself and saying, "Missy." 

"Missy?" Ronan raised an arched eyebrow. Gansey let out an unsophisticated snort, playing it off as a cough, but the ghost of a smile still flickered across his otherwise serious face. 

"Short for MISSILE LAUNCHER, all caps!" A smile much softer than Ronan's appeared on Matthew's face, his laugh filling the entire barn. Matthew's face disappeared in the curls of the newly named MISSILE LAUNCHER, muffling his giggles and causing DMD's tail to twitch in mild irritation. 

Ronan leaned against the cool wooden stall door, letting his head fall back, pointing his chin up to the roof and closing his eyes. He felt like he could stay like this forever, away from society and surrounded only by the things he loved best. 

 

 

There was something wild and reckless about Henrietta nights, something that Adam both loved and despised. On these autumn nights, Adam felt like anything could happen, for better or for worse. 

He wrenched one hand free of the handlebars and let it fly above him, feeling the wind rip through the space between his fingers. He could imagine a thousand boys biking down this path before him, with the same sort of anxious restlessness and unattainable dreams as him. If he concentrated hard enough, he could see the rolling hills of Henrietta, unmarred by humans and growing wild as it ought to have been, trees reaching for the sky, wildflowers scattered through fields, and cows—

Adam skidded to a stop abruptly. 

No, that wasn't his imagination, it was definitely a  _cow_ in the middle of the dirt road, its ears twitching passively. It was big and brown, eyes blinking in an aloof, trusting way that gave Adam an eerie feeling that it possessed an old soul. 

"Hello," Adam said, because he had no idea what to say to a cow in the middle of the road at 11 PM.

It blinked in return. 

He set down his bike as quietly as possible, walking slowly so as not to scare her. Surprisingly, there was neither a brand nor tag on her, but a very large collar, like one you might see on a dog. 

"DMD?" Adam pet her soft ears, crouching as close as possible so he could make out the scratchy writing carved on the leather collar. "Property of . . . R.LYNCH. Is that who you belong to? R. Lynch?" He recognized that name from school, he was sure of it. The right-hand-man to Richard Campbell Gansey III. 

She said nothing in response and flicked her tail in a lazy way. She nuzzled Adam's hand, pushing around his pants to get to any snacks he might have been hiding from her, but gave up upon seeing nothing. Then, she got up, slow and gentle with surprising elegance. Adam felt a newfound respect for cows, which he had never really had any affinity before this night. He had no idea how beautiful they could be .

DMD looked back at him, like she was waiting for him to follow. 

He did. 

Trailing by her side with his bike to his left, and a firm hold on her collar with his right, Adam let her lead her to what he presumed was her home. It was a lonely, calming walk, their isolation amplified by the deafening cicadas. 

"DMD!" 

Adam flinched at the unfamiliar voice, whipping his head around to see where it had come from. Just to his right a dark figure was running over, the bright shine of a flashlight swinging wildly. 

"Get your hands off my fucking cow," he said. 

Adam dropped his hand and raised it in the universal gesture that meant  _I mean no harm._ "I was just trying to return her to her home." Now irritation burned on his skin. Did he look like he was someone who would steal cattle? "What would I do with a cow anyhow?" 

The figure stepped out into the moonlight allowing Adam to make out his features more clearly. A strong jaw, straight nose, and perfect skin. Surprisingly handsome for such vulgar language. It took only a prolonged moment for Adam to put a name to the face; Ronan Lynch hardly ever came to school, it was a miracle Adam could recognize him at all. 

Ronan assessed Adam for a second—his oil stained pants, faded out t-shirt, dark bags under his eyes—and came to the conclusion that he had not been lying. "What was she doing out here?" 

"Laying on the road," Adam tried to match his disinterested tone. 

He squinted, "Don't I know you from school?" 

"I go to Aglionby." 

"Adam Parrish," he said, snapping his finger and looking pleased with himself. "You're that guy who ran for class president." 

"I  _am_ class president," Adam bristled. 

"You look a lot different out of your uniform," Ronan said breezily. Adam was sure he hadn't meant it any sort of way, but it was the kind of dismissive comment that he had grown up with all his life— _You're not like us_ —and it sent a cold shock of anger through his body. It was so easy for boys like Ronan to make Adam feel minuscule in their limitless world of glam, sex, and drugs. 

When Adam said nothing, Ronan ran a hand over his closely cropped hair and looked around awkwardly. "Do you want a ride home?" It was a nice gesture that Adam hadn't expected. It melted his anger as quickly as it had iced over. 

Adam shook his head, "I'm good biking." 

"It's fucking cold out here." 

"I know," this, somehow, made the boy smile. It was a thrilling feeling. "Thanks, anyways." 

"Cool," Ronan ran his hands down DMD's soft hair, and Adam wished he could do the same. "I'll see you at school then." 

Adam's first thought was:  _If you ever show up._ His second:  _I'd like that._

 

 

 

 

**two.**

 

Three weeks passed by and Adam didn't see Ronan at school even once. It was possible that they simply didn't share any classes, but there were several things wrong with that notion, considering the size of the junior class, and the amount of mandatory classes they had to take. It was more likely that the boy simply had refused to show up, and by the way Declan Lynch stomped in and out of the administration office, Adam figured that was exactly what happened. 

There wasn't a lot of time he could spare thinking about Ronan with all the stressing he had to do about homework, rent money, and jobs, but there was always a specially allotted time—right before he fell asleep, or dozed off at his desk, or found himself mindlessly restocking shelves at the grocery outlet—that seemed to revolve around him. It always began with the same thought:  _I wonder what Ronan Lynch is doing right now._ He liked to imagine him laying down on the vast Lynch property, sheep somewhere off in the distance, hands behind his head, eyes closed, lips just slightly parted. . . .

Adam pulled on his woolly socks, shaking the image from his mind. The downsides of living above the church was that every explicit thought felt a thousand times unholier. Atheist or not, Adam hated to desecrate St. Agnes. 

He stumbled down the stairs that took his to the back door of the church, kicking it open with little grace. The day was blindingly bright despite the chill in the air.  

Something wet touched his hand. 

"What the—" he stumbled backwards, jerking his hand away in shock. "Hell?" he ended lamely when he realized that it was simply a cow. He recognized the leather collar almost immediately, sending panicked signals of excitement through his whole body. "What're you doing here, DMD?" Adam asked, glancing around them for her owner. 

The voice came from farther away. He had not noticed the boy sitting on the wooden fence a couple feet to his right. 

"She's attending Mass," Ronan said. "Like a good Catholic." 

Adam raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips going up just slightly, "You brought your cow to Mass?" 

Ronan hopped down and in six swift steps was so close to Adam he could feel his body heat. "You don't think cows believe in God?" He asked it so solemnly that Adam wasn’t sure if he was joking.

Adam gave him a small, bemused smile. 

"She just gave birth," Ronan shrugged. "I wanted her to pray for her calf or some shit." 

It was a surprising confession that seemed both very ridiculous and not ridiculous at all. Adam smiled wider, "A calf?" 

"Missy," Ronan said, then after a beat, "short for MISSILE LAUNCHER, all caps." His face got significantly more red after Adam let out a loud, full laugh, revealing what Ronan thought were a beautiful set of teeth. "My brother Matthew named him," he explained. 

"And what's DMD short for?" Adam ran his hand down the withers of the beautiful cow. 

"DEATH METAL DESTROYER," Adam thought Ronan looked ten years younger when he was smiling the way he was now, unabashed and electric. Ronan added, "All caps." 

"Was that one Matthew, too?" 

"No, that was me." 

"It's a beautiful name." 

"Yeah," Ronan smiled again. "It means 'Lifelong Happiness' in French or something." 

"Does it?" 

"Yeah." 

Adam looked away, flushed, but Ronan maintained a very direct gaze that lingered on Adam's lips. For someone who hated confrontation, Adam appreciated Ronan's undeviating attention. 

"So," Ronan kept a steadying hand on DMD. "Do you live here?" 

"Yeah," normally he would have hated admitting this fact, but something in him told Adam that Ronan wouldn't laugh behind his back. "Just above the church." 

The silence continued for one uncertain second before Adam realized it was his turn to say something. "I didn't see you at school this week," he tried to sound as nonchalant as Ronan did, but failed miserably.

"Missed me?" Ronan's eyebrow arched. 

"How can I miss something I never see?" Adam retorted without missing a beat. 

"Maybe I'll show up one day," Ronan touched DMD's twitching ears. "Just to keep you on your toes." 

"Not for your grades?" he teased. 

"I don't do anything for anyone but myself," Ronan's smile was sharp and beautiful, like one of those Samurai swords Adam used to see in museums. There was something artful about his entire personality— _Nothing can stop me!_ it seemed to scream. 

They were silent again, and Ronan took this cue to make his getaway. "I should probably take DMD back. She's probably antsy to get back to Missy." 

Adam patted her soft head one last time, "Yeah." 

"I'll see you around, Parrish." 

"Show up to school and maybe you will," Adam said, but with no venom.

He watched the two wander away, DMD's tail swishing lazily and Ronan's hands tapping against his legs to the rhythm of a song Adam didn't know. There was a strange tug at Adam's heart as Ronan got farther and farther away, until he was nothing but a speck on the road. 

 

 

 

**three.**

Adam biked extra slowly when he passed by the Lynch property. He was already running five minutes late, but Boyd never really did care much for being punctual as long as you did your work, and even the slim chance of getting a glance at Ronan was enough incentive for him to take the longer, scenic route. 

He skidded dangerously close to the edge of the dirt where the grass began, making way to a three thousand acre field sparsely inhabited by cows, sheeps, and two solitary horses. Somewhere far above him, Adam heard the lonesome call of a raven. 

Adam peddled along, eyes straining for any sort of movement in the golden ocean of wheat some fifty meters ahead. Sure enough, he spotted the Irishman he'd anticipated, dressed in a tight black tank top and loose blue jeans. 

He stopped his bike entirely, wondering if it was okay to call out to him. 

Ronan worked oblivious to his admirer, relentlessly harvesting spring wheat with his long scythe—the kind Adam had only ever seen in movies, or alongside a Halloween costume. His body was slick with sweat as his arms strained to keep up the rhythmic movement. It looked both relaxing and incredibly exhausting. Adam continued to watch in silent admiration as Ronan dropped his scythe abruptly, picking up a water bottle he had abandoned somewhere, and taking two large gulps. 

Ronan Lynch might have been the most beautiful person Adam had ever seen. 

The image of Ronan sprawled out on harvested wheat, his eyes half-lidded, mouth obscenely parted to expose white teeth and warm refuge flashed through Adam's mind and sent a shock of heat through his entire body. 

Adam was certain, as he was peddling away, that he saw Ronan's head twist in his direction, a discreet smile on his face. 

 

 

"Kind of late for you to be out, don't you think?" Ronan joined him on the way back to St. Agnes. If it had been anywhere else—anybody else—Adam would have jumped, yelled, or started running for his life, but on the quiet, dusty road that ran by Ronan's family farm, Adam had not only expected Ronan's presence, but  _hoped_ for it. "It's almost two AM." 

Adam slowed his gait to match Ronan's. "I had to close up for Boyd and I fell asleep on the bench. Usually I get off at ten." He added that last bit of information in case Ronan might make a habit out of walking him home. He hoped. "What about you? Why aren't you sleeping with your cattle?" 

"I'll have you know, I only let Missy sleep on the bed with me, asshole." Ronan grinned, rubbing his arm in a rare show of nervousness. "I'm an insomniac. Can't fucking sleep, like, ever." 

"That sounds awful," Adam had always run low on sleep, but he couldn't imagine being  _unable_ to seek refuge on his mattress at the end of a hard day. 

"It is," Ronan said. "Was. I mean—I don't know—I've been able to sleep better lately." 

"Why's that?" A vain, hateful part of Adam hoped Ronan might say  _Because of you._

He did not say that. He said, "Everything's in the right place nowadays." 

Adam had no idea what this meant, but he felt the contentedness radiating from Ronan's warm skin, and smiled back. "Harvest is good?" 

"Harvest is good," Ronan nodded dutifully. "And now even Matthew helps around the farm sometimes." 

"He lives in the school dorms, right?" Adam conjured up the image of a shorter, younger boy that looked like Ronan, but brighter. Same straight nose, same tanned skin, same striking blue eyes. "I think I've seen him around, going to classes." 

"Good," Ronan nodded in satisfaction. "At least Declan will get off his case." 

The third Lynch sibling came to mind; a tall, intimidating figure with an arrogant smile and a handsome profile. In every way he shared the same likeness to Ronan, but while Declan maintained an aloof status of superiority, Ronan had a distinctly human quality that his older brother couldn't dream of mimicking. Ronan was fallible, to say the least. 

"You guys aren't very close, then," Adam said this as a statement, not a question, which Ronan appreciated. 

He shrugged dismissively. "He's always wanted me to be something I'm not. He thinks farming is beneath the Lynches, but he's fucking wrong. You can trace it back to our very first ancestor in Ireland—our family was bred and born to farm. It's in my blood." 

"You're very impressive," Adam slipped out. 

Ronan glanced at him, his gaze unsure. It was the sort of look someone had when they wanted to do something, but they had to build up the courage first. Adam was patient. He could wait. 

"We're here," Adam said. 

"We're here," Ronan repeated, quietly. 

Adam tested the waters, suggesting demurely, "You could come up and see my place. I could make tea. It helps when I can't sleep, sometimes." 

Ronan smiled, "Maybe another time." 

He didn't let the twinge of disappointment ruin his mood. "Walk home safely." 

"'Night, Parrish." 

He liked the way Parrish rolled off Ronan's tongue, sweet and gentle, like it was holy. When he said Parrish, it sounded like he meant to say,  _lover._

 

 

 

**four.**

Fortunately, Ronan  _did_ make a habit out of walking Adam home. He waited at the edge of his property, sometimes with a raven perched on his shoulder ("Her name is Chainsaw," he said when Adam gawked), sometimes a lamb tossed over his shoulder, but most of the time accompanied by Missy and her loud cowbell. 

When he saw Adam biking down the trail, he would rub Chainsaw's beak, or shift the lamb just slightly on his back, or pat Missy on the head and say in a rich, low drawl, "Funny seeing you around here." 

Then, Adam would get off his bike, trying his best to compose himself, and say, "Hey, Lynch." 

It was a relatively short interaction—these autumnal nights in Henrietta—in relation to the hours he spent at the grocery outlet, or the mechanics, or the factory, but it was these ten minutes Adam looked forward to every evening. Just to say, "Hey, Lynch." Just to see Ronan and his superb little animals. 

These nights often turned into a game of chicken. Hands brushed, shoulders touched, gazes lingered, and it was just a matter of time before someone reached out and interlocked their fingers. Most nights it was Ronan, but sometimes Adam couldn't stand the cat-and-mouse games, and pressed his rough hands into Ronan's. 

"Your hands are fucking dry," Ronan mumbled one night. 

"You're one to talk," Adam replied a little tersely. 

Needless to say, he was a little surprised when Ronan showed up the next night with hand lotion. It was colorless and scentless in an ambiguous white container. He hadn't realized what it was until he touched it. 

"I don't have anything to give back to you," Adam said, flustered. 

This was the beauty of Ronan Lynch—he only ever did things for himself. He never expected anything in return. 

Adam pulled out his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Ronan. It was the only thing on him at the moment. It was a little smudged with oil, but still relatively clean. "You can wear it while you're working." 

Ronan took it from him without saying a word, shoving his hands into his pockets. If they hadn't grown so accustomed to each other, Adam once might have thought that this was a rude, dismissive gesture, but now, after weeks of walking home together and shyly opening up, Adam knew that this was the way Ronan expressed gratitude: blushing ears and reticent appreciation. 

Adam smiled and Ronan let out a small sigh of satisfaction. 

It was an inconsequential interaction in relation to the rest of the world, but for Adam Parrish, it was enough.

 

 

 

"HEY ASSHOLE!" 

Adam flew down the road, turning his head just in time to see Ronan with his scythe and a goat by his feet. Matthew was sitting two feet away, playing some game enthusiastically on his phone. 

He didn't know what Ronan was trying to express to him so eloquently, so he yelled back, "WHAT, TRUANT?" 

Ronan gave him a great smile, pointing at his head, where he had tied Adam's handkerchief into a bandanna. He looked awfully proud of himself, which made Adam's heart dangerously skip a beat. 

 

 

 

**five.**

"Adam,"

"Ronan?" 

They sat on the steps of St. Agnes, too tired to walk any further, but too restless to say goodbye. It was a familiar ritual that could last up until the last few hours of the night, or at least until one of them started falling asleep. 

Ronan looked around, careful not to make eye contact with Adam. "What do you think about me becoming a farmer?" 

He raised his eyebrow, "I don't really know. I guess that's your prerogative." 

"You wouldn't mind it, then?" the hopeful tone did not escape Adam's notice, and it warmed his heart. 

Adam thought about the implication of this question for a second, heart fluttering in his chest until he felt like he would explode. "I think you should finish school first"—he felt Ronan recoil beside him—"but I know you'll be a great farmer. You're great with animals and you take your work seriously. God knows you've never taken anything else seriously in your life." 

Despite the insult, Ronan smiled, true and gleeful. He was so painfully beautiful sitting like this, painted in the dim moonlight, cheeks slightly pink either from the cold or from Adam, and his smile radiating unobstructed happiness. Time stretched out before him in a way it had never done before. 

Before this—before Ronan—Adam abhorred the idea of a forever spent in any place. But now, under the moonlit steps of St. Agnes, he felt like he could stay anywhere as long as Ronan was around. _Yeah_ , Adam thought, his head leaned back, staring into the open window of his apartment,  _I wouldn't mind so much living on a farm._

Beside him, Ronan's gaze was truthful and unchanged. There was only one thing written on his face:  _want._

"Ronan," he let their shoulders touch just slightly. 

"Yeah?" 

His gaze didn't falter when he met Ronan's.

Adam let the silence settle between them for a couple beats before he asked, "Do you want to come in with me?" 

 

 

**epilogue.**

It felt as if every second of Adam Parrish's seventeen years of existence had been leading up to this moment: hands buried in his hair, lips fumbling against each other, the cool fabric of his mattress pressed against his back. The weight of Ronan Lynch above him—no, the weight of requited love—so tangible and in the form of a beautiful boy who farmed, and never showed up to school, and bought him hand lotion, and felt so real between his fingers. 

He wanted to spend his entire life staring at Ronan Lynch, burning each defining feature into his memory until he could recall every single minute detail by himself. Or, he thought passively, he wanted to spend the rest of his days underneath him. 

"God, oh God," Ronan muttered into Adam's ear, his hands restlessly moving from Adam's waist, to his ribs, to his jaw, to his hair. "Jesus fucking Christ!" The bed squeaked noisily beneath them, but there was no one here to hear except the two of them and God. 

"Jesus Christ," Adam gasped, leaning his head back and allowing easier access to his neck. "I'm in a church. We're in a church." He should have felt ashamed—he  _tried_ to feel ashamed, but he just couldn't muster it up. Not when Ronan was kissing him like it was the end of the world. Not when he could feel the pulse of Ronan's heart on his chest. "This is wrong. This is so fucking wrong."  _But Jesus fucking Christ, I like it._

"Churches were meant to be desecrated," Ronan said offhandedly, his hands buried deep in Adam's dusty hair. The familiar smell of lavender and wheat clung to his body. "Just like trees were meant to grow and humans are meant to sin." 

For one blinding, ephemeral moment, there was nothing but hedonistic pleasure and unadulterated release. Complete and absolute liberation. 

He sighed. 

Eternity yawned before them in this small, soundless apartment above St. Agnes.  

If humans were meant to sin, _by_ _God_ , Adam Parrish would sin. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> ps: i definitely got the inspiration from [this](https://media.gannett-cdn.com/35546125001/35546125001_5541039568001_5541034446001-vs.jpg)!! could you imagine ronan taking a nap with his cows??


End file.
